


Reality Bites

by LadyBecky



Series: Dream Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBecky/pseuds/LadyBecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Two of “Dream a Little Dream of Me”</p>
<p>You’ve woken up from a coma where a Trickster had you trapped in your mind in an alternative universe. You are trying to understand/remember what is real and what is fake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reality Bites

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural fanfic based off a picture I had seen of a couple’s tattoo (sorry, I didn’t save it to share, can’t find it now) of a black and white feather set that when held their hands were held together the image created a heart. It had the words “She is the light in my darkness” written on the man’s arm and “He is the keeper of my heart” on the woman’s… I changed some of the words on the woman’s (Keeper to Protector) for this fic because I felt it fit Dean better. This is also Part Two of “Dream a Little Dream of Me”

****

**ބ She is the Light in my Darkness ބ**

**ބ He is my Protector and my Heart ބ**

 

 

* * *

 

You stare at the cut on your arm that you’d seen appear from out of nowhere not even ten minutes ago.

There are words tattooed just beneath it, along with the ink of a curved black feather. ‘He is my Protector and my Heart’, it reads over the top of the picture…

But- you never had tats- needles geeked you out way too much to ever get one. You even shiver slightly with the thought.

Flexing your muscle a bit, you can feel some tension leave your body, as your nerves run high with adrenaline. A warm hand squeezes yours back.

Sucking in a breath, you dart your eyes from your own arm to the one beside yours…

A large, masculine arm, that is currently holding your hand tightly.

A matching cut rides on his skin, and a very similar ink piece with a white feather, curved oppositely to yours. ‘She is the Light in my Darkness’ is written underneath…

Your eyes widen in shock as you struggle to breathe…

Backing away, you push yourself back against the hospital bed, your eyes darting around the room.

It’s not the same room you were just in…

“Whoa, wait… hang on, babe- where’d’ya think you’re going?” a man’s deep voice asks, bringing your head whipping around to look at him.

The greenest eyes you’ve ever seen hold your gaze. You freeze in place.

_How… how is this possible?_

* * *

Dean watched as she backed away from him, her eyes rounded in fear.

“Sammy-” he calls to his brother on the other side of the room to be ready to grab for her if she bolted.

“Calm down, honey,” Sam moved closer to her side. “It’s okay- it’s only us… we’ve got you,” he tries reassuring her gently.

She pulls away from Sam, too.

“Guys- we may have a problem,” Castiel announces from the foot of the bed.

“Ya think, Cas?” Dean snaps, watching her tremble and look around the room in confusion.

“No- not just her memory,” Cas clarified. “She’s awake here, in the now, so the Trickster may have come back with her…”

Dean caught Sam’s eyes. “Great. Just, friggin awesome… and me without a stake…”

He looked from his brother into her eyes again. Fear still reigned supreme, instead of the love and trust he was so used to seeing in them.

Sam started shoving the ritual items scattered on the bed into a duffle and pulled out two wooden stakes, tossing one to Dean.

“We can’t fight back, not right now. Even with these…” Sam warned him.

 

* * *

“You’d need the blood of its last victim,” you say, hearing your voice ring strangely in your own ears.

The men in the room turn to stare at you, surprised by your comment.

You look down again at the cut on your arm. “Would I count as a victim?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head vehemently. “No way, babe. You are too weak, we aren’t cutting you…”

“Let’s just get the hell out of here, before it does come for her…” Sam ignored your suggestion, shoving a dresser from out of in front of the door.

“Can you walk?” he turned back and asked.

“What?” you scowl crossly. “Of course…”

Throwing your legs to the side of the bed, you move to stand but your knees buckle weakly and you start to fall.

“Hey! Hey! Easy now, baby… Let me help…” Dean swings you up into his arms easily, holding you against his chest.

“Cas, a little help- maybe your mojo will work on her now that she’s awake,” he says to the other man in the room.

“Cas?” you say dumbly, raising your eyes to meet the blue gaze of the guy coming closer to you. He raises his fingers to your forehead and you gasp in surprise as a soft glow warms through your body. Strength returns to your spastic limbs and you push away from the arms that hold you.

“Cas, as in Castiel- the angel… from Supernatural?” you question your own sanity for a moment, trying to gather your wits.

“From what?” Dean asks, looking from you to Cas. “That tv show that we were thrown into by Balthazar in the fakeuverse? Is that what she talking about?”

“She’s not remembering this as reality,” Cas clarifies. “I can’t heal her mind, even with her being back here…”

You see Sam open the door slowly, scouting the hallway.

“We can’t take the time to explain right now,” he looks back into the room. “We have to get you to safety. Can you trust us? Please?”

Swallowing thickly against the lump in your throat, you try to take a steadying breath and nod at him, then to the other two.

They looked… like Sam and Dean and Cas. They looked _real_ …

_I must be dreaming_ , you think to yourself. _I’m just dreaming_ …

“Okay… okay, good,” Sam adds with a quick smile at you. “Trust is good…” he repeats, glancing at his brother.

“Stay with her Dean… I’ll go first…” he says as he slips out into the corridor.

Dean takes your arm, pulling you against his side as he follows Sam.

“Stay close,” he tells you gruffly, his eyes holding yours, a hint of fear and sadness in them.

“Like a second skin,” you snark, moving along beside him. You see a ghost of a smile twitch his lips at your comment.

“Man, I’ve missed you,” he says, placing his hand along your lower back as he pushes you along.

 

* * *

Dean cleared the front doors, ushering you out into the parking lot, making a beeline for the Impala. _So far, so good_ …

He stops dead when a woman appears in front of you from out of thin air. Pulling you behind him, he levels the stake towards the creature.

“You!” you cry out when the nurse who had been taking care of you for the past month suddenly materializes before your eyes.

The woman’s eyes narrow at the hunter, staring him down.

“You know her?” Dean barks out the question at you.

“Nurse Ratched,” you snarl. “She’s been pushing pills down my throat for the past month…”

You see her eyes turn to meet yours as a sardonic smile curved her lips.

“You should have taken your medicine sweetie,” she tells you. “Now, I’m going to have to make this much messier…”

A quick movement sends you ducking behind Dean. Sam had doubled back behind the nurse, driving his weapon into the creature’s heart.

“We’ve gotta get going,” he huffs quickly. “That won’t keep her away for long,” he reminds you.

“Come on!” Dean grabs your hand, dragging you behind him, shoving you towards the Impala.

You move to the center of the backseat, huddling down, putting your head between your knees, trying to catch your breath and stave off a panic attack.

Dean looks into the rearview mirror, wanting to catch your eyes.

“Are you okay?” he turns to look down at you as he whips the wheel and speeds the car out of the lot. Tires squeal loudly under you and you cringe.

“Okay? OKAY?” you ask incredulously. “I am far from okay! Where the hell am I? Where are you taking me!?”

“What in the fuck is going on!?!” you finally snap, losing your cool façade.

 

* * *

“The bunker,” Sam answered you, turning slightly in the seat so he can talk to you face to face. “You’ll be safe there… the Trickster won’t find you…”

“Why would it be looking for me in the first place?” you ask, locking your gaze to Sam’s.

“We don’t know- but this all started two years ago with it trapping you in the first place, so I don’t want to take any chances…”

“Neither do I,” Dean adds, looking in the mirror again. It seems like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you.

“Wait- two years?” you state as Sam’s words catch up to your addled brain. “Exactly how far down the rabbit hole did I go?” you ask, putting your head into your hands, unable to wrap your brain around any of this…

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asks.

“Arguing with that nurse about taking the pills the doctor had me on… I was in the hospital sick for over a month and nobody was giving me any answers- so I refused to take the damn things anymore until someone figured out what they were treating me for,” you tell them.

“Refusing to take the pills must have been what broke you out of the spell,” Sam stated. “Because you wouldn’t believe the lies anymore.”

“What lies? That I was sick? Was it poisoning me?” you ask, still confused.

“<y/n>,” Dean’s voice turned huskier as he asked the next question. “What’s the last thing you remember about here? About reality?”

You shake your head. “What are you talking about? I told you- I was in the facility, the hospital…”

Dean glances from the mirror to Sam then back to the reflection of your eyes. “That wasn’t real babe… I’m asking what’s the last thing you remember from _here_ …” his voice sounded concerned.

You shake your head, not understanding. “What. Do. You. Mean?” you snap, becoming angry. “How could it not be real? I’m _not_ crazy.” You _weren’t_ crazy... you begin to insist to yourself.

“No- you aren’t,” Sam agreed quickly. “The Trickster wanted you to think you were… but it wasn’t real… being here, now with us, this is real. Is there anything you remember about that? About the fight with the Trickster before the coma?”

You shake your head and start to chuckle. “I was fighting a Trickster. _I_ was fighting…” you scoff. “You’re sure about that?”

Sam held your gaze. “Yeah- real sure…” he breathed out a tense chuckle. “So, huh… you don’t remember even being a hunter?”

Leaning back against the seat you begin to laugh. “A hunter… Okay- just, stop the car…” you demand, pulling yourself forward and reaching for the door handle.

Dean saw the move and panicked. “Whoa- wait, don’t…” he tells you, throwing a pleading look back at you. “I can’t stop- we got to get you safe! We are only about a half hour away from home, uh, from the bunker… Please, just hold on, okay? Just sit tight and we’ll get this figured out…”

You press your lips together in a thin line and cross your arms over your chest defensively but sit back against the seat once again.

Dean let out a deep sigh, flooring the accelerator to bump down the distance.

 

* * *

You step out of the car and look towards the bunker.

“Holy shit…” you mumble, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “The bat-cave is real. Maybe I am going crazy.”

Following behind the guys, you allow yourself to be shuttled indoors.

Sam leads you down a hall into room that opened up into a library.

“You, uh, want to sit?” he asked, gesturing to a couch.

“I’d like a shower and my own clothes,” you sigh, looking down at the hospital garb covering your body. “But I guess that’s probably too much to ask for…”

Dean gives you a strange look and takes your hand, leading you into another hallway. “Actually, it isn’t…” he shrugs, tugging you into a bedroom.

Standing stiffly at the doorway, you watch him move through the room, opening drawers and grabbing towels from the closet.

He looks back over his shoulder at you and nods back to the dresser. “Those are yours,” he tells you gently.

Eyes skeptical, you move closer to the dresser, looking inside. One holds folded pairs of jeans, hoodies and t-shirts, and the other has bras, socks and underwear. You pull out a worn pair of Levi’s that look familiar and check the back pocket.

It’s completely torn off, and the hems at the legs are frayed from constantly dragging the ground under your feet.

Just like your favorites.

Digging further, you find your loose black Metallica concert tee tucked inside the corner. Pulling it out, you hold it up in front of you.

This should have still been in the bag you had brought to the hospital, along with your AC/DC one…

You spot that now, also in this drawer and your face pinches in confusion.

Dean chuckles a little, sounding nervous to you.

“Yeah, I keep telling you to get your own clothes, but you always steal mine,” he grins, running a hand over his short hair.

“These _are_ mine,” you argue back, although you can’t remember where you’d gotten them from. But they were your favorites, and you didn’t go anywhere without them…

You check the collar on the Metallica one for the hole near the shoulder.

Yep. Definitely yours.

“How are these here?” you ask, holding them up to your chest.

Dean scowled. “Where else would your clothes be?” he responds. “This is-”

He started to say something but you cut him off.

“Well, I know I had them in my bag at the hospital- so what did you do? Steal them and bring them here?”

“Steal them? No- what?” he stammered, looking at you in confusion. “They are here, in your drawer, because that’s where they belong… in your room!”

“They _belong_ in my room in my apartment!”

Now his face looked shocked.

“Your apartment? Where is your apartment, Princess?”

You rattle off your address, and he shakes his head.

“You realize that’s like halfway across the country from here, right?” Dean moves towards you and you take a step back.

“Wh-where am I?” you ask.

“Lebanon, Kansas,” he answers, watching you closely.

“For real. Like on the show… that’s not- that’s not _possible_ …” you tell him.

“Look, <y/n>… the impossible is pretty much our specialty…” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You know this… you just can’t remember right now.”

“The show… this ‘Supernatural’ that you keep talking about- it’s not a show, its real- really real… as in, your life, here…”

You look around the room again, still in shock.

“I’d like to take that shower now,” you tell him softly, trying to hold it together.

Dean straightened his stance, nodding once and handing off the towels in his hands. He started to step away…

“Dean-” you called his name and he turned back, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Um. I- I don’t know where the bathroom is,” you tell him, sorry to see the disappointment move across his face.

“Oh, yeah- sure… it’s right here.”

 

* * *

After a long, hot shower and changing into your own clothes, you head back into the bedroom that Dean had shown you to on your own, feeling more like yourself than you had in quite a long time. Tossing the towel from your head onto the back of a desk chair, you pick up a hairbrush from on top of the dresser and start working out some of the tangles from your hair.

There’s a phone, _your_ phone, you think, sitting on charge in a speaker tower alongside the desk. It doesn’t have your Supernatural case on it, but the lock screen was still set to a picture of the guys. The only difference was the picture wasn’t the one you’d set up. This was a more casual shot… Curious, you pick it up, entering your password and the phone screen opens easily.

You open your playlists, seeing the first one ‘Dean’ is still there. Opening it and pressing play, your phone’s Bluetooth automatically connected to the speakers and your music spills through the room.

“Sweet,” you grin as you flip through some more songs.

 

* * *

Dean picked his head up as he heard the music blast down the hall to the library.

“Glad to hear she hasn’t lost her taste in music,” he smiled at Sam after hearing Evanescence blaring. His brother grinned.

“Why don’t you go check and see how she’s doing?” Sam suggested. Dean was already standing.

“Read my mind,” he patted Sam’s back as he passed him. “Already on it…”

 

* * *

Dean watched her brushing out her hair as she stood in front of the long mirror, swaying her hips to the music. He stayed back just outside the door so she didn’t notice him, enjoying the view.

She turned around to set the brush back on the dresser and caught him standing there.

“Hey,” she smiled at him.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Are you spying on me?” she teased.

“Huh? Uh, yeah, guilty…” Dean stuttered, off guard. He gave her a grin, trying to ease his way back into a conversation. He looked around the room.

“So, you find everything alright?” he asked, mentally face-palming himself.

Her smile brightened. “Yeah. Hey- let me ask you a question…”

Dean nodded. “Sure, shoot…”

“Are you always this awkward in real life?”

He blew out a tense breath and chuckled nervously. “No. Not usually…”

 

* * *

“Then lighten up,” you tell him with a wink.

Dean’s laugh made your heart flip.

“Man, I love that sound…” you tell him. His eyes widen in surprise.

“What?” he looked shocked. Your smile deepened.

“Your laugh, it’s just that- even… there- in the ‘matrix’… I loved your laugh,” you tell him.

“Um. Good. That’s good…” he shakes his head when you chuckle at him.

“ _Wow_ \- this is hard,” he comments.

“Yeah it is…” you start laughing.

He looks at you more seriously. “I missed your laugh…” he tells you.

You feel your face heat in a blush. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice becoming husky.

You move over to sit on the bed. “Come here,” you tell him, patting the spot beside you.

Dean’s brows furrow together for a brief second before he sits down.

“So,” you look up at him from the corner of your eye.

He let out a nervous chuckle and licked his lips. “So…”

You settle your arm alongside his, looking down at the matching tattoos. He raised a brow and moved his arm under yours, until your forearms bumped together and the feathers created a heart. He takes your hand, linking his fingers into yours.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a coincidence?” you mention.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, squeezing your hand a little tighter.

“Man of few words,” you wrinkle your nose up at him.

“Pretty much, usually,” he agrees. “You’re remembering?”

“No,” you smirk. “Just observant…”

“Would you mind telling me how I got this, then? Since as far as I knew up until a few hours ago, I didn’t have any ink…” you ask him, trying to keep the dialogue going.

Dean moved closer, bumping his shoulder to yours. “You have a couple,” he grinned.

“So I noticed,” you bumped him back. “But I’m asking for the story with this one… After all, I’m pretty clear on the anti-possession one,” you shrug, mentioning the tattoo you had noticed over your heart while you showered.

“And this one?” he asks, tracing a finger along your wrist where a tiny infinity symbol sits.

“I’m asking about this one,” you nudge him again, pointing to your joined arms.

“When did I get it… I mean, when did we get them?” you ask, correcting yourself.

Dean sighs, meeting your eyes briefly before looking back down at your arm.

“We decided to get them after… uh, after I came back from Hell,” he scowled a little and you could tell it was hard for him to talk about.

“So we’ve been a couple, um, for a while then?” you ask, needing to know.

He gives a soft laugh of disbelief at that. “Yeah- you could say that…”

“How long have we been together?”

“How long as _together_ , together? Like, uh, sleeping together?” he asks, his face turning red in a blush. “Or how long have you been with us?”

You consider his wording before answering.

“Both. I don’t remember either time…”

Dean sighs heavily. “You will. We’ll figure something out to get your memory back…” he tells you, avoiding the questions completely.

“Okay, then. Can you at least tell me why did we get these words?” you continue your questioning, motioning back to the tattoos.

“Aren’t you getting tired?” he asks hopefully, wanting to end the conversation.

“No. I don’t sleep. I have to take pills…” you stop when you see his brows wrinkle in confusion, realizing that wasn’t reality. “Christ, this is confusing,” you frown. “I don’t take pills, do I?”

Dean sees the look in your eyes. “You don’t sleep much. You have insomnia sometimes…” he tells you. “But you don’t take pills… You usually work out, or research like a mad woman… or…” he stops suddenly, cutting himself off. “Uh, or other stuff…”

“Okay,” you huff out a breath. “This- not remembering, shit… it seriously bites. I feel like I don’t know who I really am…”

You look at the tat again. “I’m afraid of needles… I never got tattoos because I’m afraid of needles…”

You look up to meet his eyes, asking for confirmation on if that was really you.

He smiled. “Yeah. I know… that’s what made this even more special. You agreed to get it done, for me… so we’d always have something together, even if we were separated again…”

“Like when you were in Purgatory…” you ask. He scoffs and shakes his head.

“You remember things like that, but not things about you…” he rolls his eyes, but answered the question still in your eyes.

“Yeah…” he finally huffs out. “This helped me get through. I looked at it every day, reminding myself you were with me. You were still here. And I kept telling myself I’d see you again…”

You squeezed his hand tightly.

“I don’t remember us, but I never stopped loving you,” you tell him, wanting to let him know at least that hadn’t changed. The hurt in his eyes went deep and you needed to give him that.

“Sammy, too... I always felt connected to here, to this reality. I just didn’t know why. But you meant something to me, and this here- was family to me… I thought I was crazy…” you shake your head, looking away from him. “Hell, maybe I am,” you sigh heavily. “Maybe I just finally went over the edge…”

“Hey,” Dean takes your chin in his hand, pulling your head back up so he can look into your eyes. “You aren’t crazy… you were _never_ crazy,” he tells you, his brow furrowing into a scowl.

“And I’m going to _personally_ make sure that the Trickster pays for making you feel that way,” he growls angrily.

Something about the way he says that makes your heart flutter. _My protector_ , you think with a sigh. You can understand that much from the tattoo now. Just the tone in his voice makes you realize that it is true.

 

* * *

A soft knock sounds, and you look up to see Sam standing in the half opened doorway.

“Hey, door was open- so, um- I’m not interrupting?” he asks. Dean just shakes his head slightly.

“No, come on in,” you tell him. “I’m just trying to figure out stuff, sorting through memories. Real versus fiction…”

“Did you find something?” Dean asked, seeing the laptop in Sam’s hand.

Sam moves into the room, pulling the desk chair around to sit in front of you both. “Not anything on the Trickster’s whereabouts… but get this…”

You chuckle softly at his words.

“What?” Sam looks into your eyes.

“Nothing… just you say that a lot. Or I think you did… It usually means you found something significant.”

“Really?” he thinks about that for a moment and laughs. “Okay, I’ll own that…”

Dean rolls his eyes. “At least I don’t have a catch phrase,” he teased his brother.

“Awesome,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Awesome?” they both say together, looking at you incredulously.

“No, much more sarcastically,” you joke. “You know… ‘ _Awesome’_ ,” you repeat, this time with a mocking tone.

Sam laughs out loud. “Yeah, I hear that.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” Dean repeats, this time with feeling. He grins as he looks down into your eyes when you giggle.

“That’s it exactly,” you laugh. “But, back to what you found, Sam- what have you got?”

Sam smiled, shaking his head. “I think I found some references about memory loss in the Trickster’s victims. Ones who have survived…” he cleared his throat a little.

“Uh, it looks like the spell they weave can be broken once the Trickster is killed. There are two cases noted where the survivor’s regained their memories,” Sam points out a piece of text in the webpage he has pulled up.

“So, once we find the bastard and shove a stake up its ass, <y/n> should get her memories back,” Dean stated. “But you haven’t found any signs to help us hunt the fucker so we can end this?”

Sam shook his head. “No, nothing. It may be the thing is regrouping, trying to figure out another way to get at <y/n>…”

“Why? What in the world would something want with me?” you asked.

“Cas has a theory,” Sam mentioned, frowning slightly.

Dean picked up his head at that. “Seriously? Do you want to share that particular piece of information with the class?” he quipped after Sam hesitated.

Sam glanced at you then back to his brother. “He seems to think that it may have been the Trickster’s way of pulling us apart. By keeping <y/n> in a coma, it was manipulating us- and he seems to think that’s why we can’t find any signs of it…”

“Because as long as <y/n> doesn’t remember us, it’s still controlling her, it’s still keeping us apart,” Sam finished. He looks at you sadly.

“Bullshit,” you bite out. “It couldn’t make me forget either of you, not all the way…”

“I may not remember my place here, or how I fit in, but I remember you both. I know I love you- and that’s where the bitch screwed up. It didn’t recognize the power of love.”

Dean held your hand tighter, squeezing your fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he says roughly, reaching down to press a kiss on your temple.

Sam closed his laptop, standing up from the seat. He moves in front of you and crouches a bit to your eye level.

“<y/n>, you may not remember it right now, but we love you too. You are my sister… even if we aren’t blood,” Sammy tells you, bringing tears to your eyes.

You reach out your free hand to touch his jaw and he smiles a little, capturing your hand with his and pressing his lips to your wrist. He traces the infinity symbol that is there and turns his hand slightly, so you see that he has one also.

“Family doesn’t end in blood,” you say quietly, leaning forward a little to bump your forehead against his.

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam’s smile widens as he stands up, kissing your brow quickly when he straightens.

Dean nudges your shoulder lightly, pulling you to stand as he gets up to follow his brother out the door.

“Come on baby… Let me make you something to eat,” he says, tugging you behind him towards the kitchen.

 

* * *

You watch with a soft smile as Dean works his way around the kitchen, singing a little under his breath. He stirs something in a pot, tasting it and adding some spices before turning around, catching you staring at him. He winks and sings a little louder with the music playing from a small radio on the counter.

“My playlist is missing some songs,” you mention as the song ends and he looks at you quizzically. You tap your phone lightly with your finger with a slight shrug.

“I used to have a couple songs on here that were you singing them… I’d listen to them every night to help me sleep,” you explain, slightly embarrassed.

“I never sang anything that was recorded,” Dean says. “But I, uh, I’d sing to you…”

“When I was in the coma?” you ask, keeping your eyes locked on his.

His cheeks reddened slightly. “Yeah, and before too,” he shrugs. “You’d ask me to sing to you sometimes, so I’d sing to you when you were having a hard time trying to sleep.”

You nod, understanding. “I heard you, still, even in the matrix. I heard you singing. It couldn’t take that away from me…” you scowl, thinking of the head games the Trickster had put you through.

Dean saw the anger move across your face. “<y/n>,” he calls your name softly, bringing your attention back to his eyes. “We’re going to get your memories back- all of them- I promise…  We aren’t going to let that thing win, no matter what it has up its sleeve.”

You sigh, leaning against the counter. “I know. I trust you… both of you. I know you’ll try your best. But you have to understand, Dean. I need to put some of these pieces back together myself. I- I just have to, so I know what I’m feeling is real…”

He held your gaze, moving a little closer. “What are you feeling, Princess?” he asked gently. The look in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

 

* * *

 

Dean watched as a blush pinks up her cheeks prettily, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. She glances down, studying her socks for a minute before looking back up to lock her <y/e/c> eyes to his…

He couldn’t stop staring when she stepped closer, standing up on her toes to reach his chest. He felt his heart slam against ribs when she reached up and lay her palm alongside his cheek.

“I’m not sure,” he hears her say breathlessly. “But I think I remember…”

“What?” he whispers, lowering his head a little closer.

“This…” she gently skimmed her lips over his as she spoke. “I remember this…”

Dean held still, frozen in fear that if he moved he’d grab a hold of her and scare her away. He returned the gentle kiss, his lips just barely touching over hers, taking her breath in with each soft touch.

Her mouth curved in a smile as she nipped lightly at his bottom lip, trapping it between hers and tugging at it.

The groan that reached his throat couldn’t be forced down. He lifts a shaking hand to her cheek, trailing his fingers over her jaw down to her neck, threading his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. His body responded with a will of its own, pressing her against the countertop, trapping her against him.

 

* * *

 

 

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight while his mouth ravishes yours, making you lose your breath. A small whimper of pleasure escapes your lips as he holds your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your jaw softly.

He presses his body along yours, keeping you held against him tight and you hear a low growl start to rumble deep in his chest.

“Down, tiger…” you grin, settling a hand on his chest.

Dean pulls back just a little, meeting your eyes. “You remember…” he stutters out a steadying breath, watching you closely.

“I remember you. I always did. I knew how this would feel,” you reach up and gently stroke the stubble on his chin. “I knew your scent,” you breathe in deeply, smelling soap with a hint of gunpowder, gasoline and something… uniquely Dean.

Kissing him once more, you open your eyes to his…

“I knew you would taste like cinnamon,” you say breathlessly. “So, yeah- I remember. I remember that much…”

Dean sighs, wrapping you up in his arms and you settle your head against his chest, listening to his heart beating under your ear.

“I remember this…” you close your eyes, willing the tears that are threatening to go away. How long had it been since you’d felt this safe? You couldn’t tell. But now, here it was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
